Heartburn
by Fuzzy Necromancer
Summary: Crystal demons tempt and trick Sunnydale humans into new depths of depravity and sin. Buffy and Faith try to harm these new foes, but they are growing girls with a new appetite along with an odd slayer power. high-fat & Weight Gain
1. Chapter 1

Megan took a deep breath and switched her right turn signal on. Her left leg thumped away as she angled her truck along the exit to Sunnydale.

The evening mist didn't grow thicker. The moon didn't leer down like a crumbling skull. The hairs on the back of her neck didn't rise up.

She pumped the gas and barreled down the ramp faster than necessary. Something more abstract than adrenaline quickened her pulse. Her soul stirred with an anxiety too subtle to notice, and an excitement even deeper under that.

Megan didn't know about the pit of mystical energy resonating through this affluent suburban neighborhood. She knew that there was a heavy demand for the oak timber she hauled in the back of her truck, a wood strong enough for houses, coffins, and stakes. She knew that each time she drove into Sunnydale, she looked forward to leaving, and as soon as she left, she wanted to return.

The hellmouth drew demons and vampires too it. This was a popular fact in occult circles. What people didn't think about was that its energy also attracted humans. Despite the massive numbers of violent death, the unexplained disappearances, and the abysmal schools, property values in Sunnydale kept going up, as parents came up with flimsy and conflicting reasons for why this was the perfect place to raise a family. The mystic energy swam in the peripheral vision of the soul and resonated at the very marrow of human bones.

Megan drove past big fancy houses and ornamental Japanese maples. She kept her eyes peeled for The Bronze, eager to pull over for a quick piss and a triple-shot espresso. If she didn't reach it soon, she might have to fill up another bag of sunshine and hurl it out the window when the cops weren't nearby. Honestly, why did this district have to outlaw flinging urine from a moving vehicle? It was a few steps from fascism.

Sudden motion between the hedges broke her thoughts. Her brakes squealed and the boy plunged at her fender. Headlights glinted off crystal points.

Unreality rose around her. A hood framed her estranged step-son's face. The wheels jerked and thumped over the body four times before she brought the vehicle to a halt.

Megan didn't bother with the emergency brake or the keys. She swung upon the door and ran around to check the crumpled body for any signs of life. Everything turned into a bad dream. Wheels swerved in the distance.

Nothing lay on the ground. She searched around, but the orange streetlight showed no blood, no body, no hint of the boy she had hit. She began to wonder what her step-son would possibly be doing in this area. Maybe she'd been seeing things.

Megan hurried around to the front of her truck. No trick of the light could shred the front tires and tear open the hood. She bent over to asses the damage. A horn blared, and the student driver hit her.


	2. Chapter 2

The Bronze stank. The sights of latest styles and trendy club lighting bedazzled the eye. The soft croon of Indy music ensnared the ear. Both of these spectacles took a backseat to the ground-in, undying reek. The air gelled with smells of sex and sweat, reinforced by lesser whiffs of old blood, pot smoke, and sour milk.

The students at Sunnydale High grew accustomed to the smell after a few weeks. The hospital scrubs, too young to forget their troubles off-duty with a stiff drink, were unaccustomed to it. They spent days and nights working around medical waste, from semi-solid to rapidly evaporating pools, in every color of the rainbow. They had disposed of "sanitary" bandages that had things wriggling in them. The smell of the Bronze, while not strictly stronger than the usual array of medical aromas, had a curious penetrative quality that not even foulest biohazard could achieve.

"I just can't believe it," Tod said, wiping his mouth. "She was hit by a car. No bite marks or hypovolemic shock. No sucker-marks. No sudden decomposition or phosphorescent residue."

Janet shook her head and tapped the mug of Luwak coffee with cream and sugar. "I know. I've never seen anything like it in my medical career." She took a sip and then gagged. "Ye gods, this coffee tastes like shit."

"It's supposed to," Tod reassured her. "And calling it a 'medical career' is a bit rich. You've been emptying bedpans for, what, six weeks?"

"Hey," Janet said, taking another sip and wincing, "everyone starts at the bottom. She ogled the tall dark stranger in tight leather pants, who took one look at her crucifix necklace and fled. She began to regret the choice to advertise her catholic faith so widely, especially when she considered a lot of papal doctrines more suggestions than hard-set rules.

"Unless daddy dearest is a major stockholder and there's a cushy management position to fill," Tod sneered. "Honestly, if you bring up that bootstrap bullshit one more time, you'll be the one hooked up to an IV."

"You tell her, Tod!" Xander shouted from the next table, waving.

"Working class represent!" Tod hooted back. Janet rolled her eyes.

Xander grinned and gave him two big thumbs up. He turned back to the big-eyed redhead Willow, and tanned blond Buffy without changing expression.

"I hope that self-righteous bastard gets spastic colon," he chuckled.

"Well, I mean, he's got to be a total jerk, I wouldn't question that, but, um, what did Tod do to deserver your anger-thing?" Willow asked, sipping her hot cocoa. She grimaced and sniffed it. "Does this smell funny to you?"

"It's a pretty interesting story," Xander said, smoothing back his hair, "but I don't want to bore you with the details."

"Those onion rings are getting cold," Buffy said. Her eyes hadn't moved from Xander's basket of deep-fried vegetable for the past few minutes. She blinked and wiped drool away. "I mean, you might want to eat them up. Now. Before they get cold. Because, you know, they're just so delicious and savory."

She sipped her small coffee and chewed up the last crumb of her oatmeal-raisin cookie. Xander looked down at his onion rings. He looked up at Buffy's pleading stare.

"Would you like an onion ring?" Xander said, proffering one of the fossilized grease units.

Buffy leaned back and feigned surprise. "Oh no, I'm good," she said. Her stomach growled like a freshly risen vampire. Buffy studied the ceiling and scratched the back of her arm.

Xander half-bowed and shoved the basket across the table. "No, I insist. Far be it from me to deprive a gorgeous growing girl her daily dose of transfats."

"Actually, they use canola and peanut-oil in the fryers here," Willow said, raising a finger.

Xander shrugged. "Daily dose of heart-healthy good cholesterol, then. Point is I can't stand to let a pretty slayer go hungry."

Willow nose twitched at the rich scent of Xander's chocolate-covered espresso beans. She focused her imploring puppy-dog eyes and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"That's dessert, will. Even my generosity has limits," Xander said with a dangerous calm.

Willow let out a soft "meep" noise and ducked behind her cup.

"Hey," Oz said, all-but-materializing behind Willow with a huge bowl of the crunch caffeinated confections. Her wide green eyes lit up and she wrapped him in a squealing embrace.

"You are the best boyfriend-musician-caterer in the West Coast," she purred, burying her face in his shoulders. Oz gave the tiniest smile in response.

"So, Buffy, how's the slay-" Xander stopped in mid-sentence. Buffy licked the wax-paper clean and pushed away the empty basket. "What's the matter, Buff? Mom not feeding you since she heard about the Angel fiasco?"

Buffy grinned sheepishly and wiped her fingers. "Oh, no, I just coaxed Faith out of her hotel room for the night."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"Well, we ran into a couple of vamps on the way back to the house just after they'd killed the entire staff at seven-eleven." Buffy rubbed the back of her hand across her broad, flat tummy, chewing her lip. A couple of blond guys danced across the floor, following the beat of another song and possibly a different decade. "So, I was all, 'hey Faith, why don't you stop by my house and take care of those post-slaying munchies you always talk about?" She sucked at her empty cup, frowned, them crumpled it and tossed it into the trashcan across the room.

"Nice shot," Jonathan called out on his way to the bathroom.

Willow nodded, sympathetic but devoid of understanding.

"Mom cooked tuna-noodle casserole for dinner. I didn't get thirds or seconds. There weren't any leftovers. Mom complained about a few of my 'silly little habits' that I'm not going to bring up here, or the time she caught me in the shower with a z-"

Buffy glared at Xander. His look of bright interest turned to a frown of friendly concern.

"So, after mom went to bed, Faith decides she's still hungry. I try to distract her with some cheesy romance movies while she eats everything." Buffy slumped in her chair and pouted. "I was saving that smoked gouda for a special occasion."

Willow frowned. "You mean, like, everything that's good?"

Buffy expression was one step away from murder. "Everything. We have two limes, a bottle of soy sauce, and some bulgar wheat, and I just _know_ that mom's going to blame _me_, because 'no one person could eat that much' and Faith knows just how to butter her up with lots of compliments about her cooking."

Xander and Willow goggled. Oz raised an eyebrow.

"You could make a bulgar-noodle lime-soy salad from scratch."

Buffy bared her teeth. Oz departed to fetch another bowl of chocolate-covered espresso beans and prolong his lifespan.

Willow gulped down a handful of beans as Xander whistled.

"I know. I mean, you wouldn't believe it! I swear her stomach was sticking out, like, ten inches!" Buffy illustrated by sticking her hands out more than fourteen inches apart.

Willow frowned. "Buffy, I don't think that's medically possible. But she was completely wrong to do that, and I'm very sorry for you, and, um, you can come over to my house for food if you want to."

Willow gave Buffy a hesitant half-pat half-hug, and a "please don't think I'm unfeeling" smile.

Buffy shook her head and returned the gesture. "No worries Will. I'm sure I can survive."

Oz nodded and stared into the distance, pondering the nature of the human soul.

Xander looked down to make sure he had a just-friends distance between him and Willow. "Carry on, brave Buffy. After all, what's a night without groceries after facing the legions of the dead and saving the world twice? It's not like you'll go homicidally insane with hunger."

Buffy fiddled with the bottom of her shirt. Her gaze drifted out the window.

For a moment, she thought she saw Angel walking towards the service entry. No, it couldn't be. Angel was back in his crypt, and he favored designer suits over shapeless green-grey robes.

Thoughts of Angel sent a warmth through her cheeks and a tingle down her spine. Sometimes, the bottomless love felt so rich, she could almost hear it, like tinkling music with hints of a melancholy oboe in the background. Of course, they weren't exactly in love now, they just loved each other. Or something like that. She loved Angel because he loved her, because he was such a wonderful person, and what was wonderful about him was that she could love him despite everything, and he loved her. The tinkling music drowned out the live concert at the bronze and took on the rhythm of laughter.

Buffy shook herself. The pale man in the corner had some water damage around his wingtip shoes and plenty of dirt under his fingernails. Were those pine splinters in his fingertip?

"You guys stay here. I just need to shish kabob a vamp." Her mouth watered at the thought of shish kabobs.


	3. Chapter 3

Lyle Gorch crouched under the bleachers of Rookwood High, watching the cheerleaders through the dwindling forest of legs. He reckoned himself something of an expert when it come to legs. Whether they were skinny, muscular, or fat as butter, long or short, covered in stockings, squeezed into fishnets, or bare and naked. Everyone said it was all 'bout the tits or ass, but damned if he didn't love a pair of good-looking legs to sink his teeth into.

Lyle prided himself on being not afraid of anything. The reason he wasn't afraid of anything was because he knew how fast he could run, and in a pinch could dislocate half the bones in his body to squeeze down a storm drain or some other hidey-hole.

He wiped his mouth. He had to wait for the crowd to thin out. When would the cheerleaders finish floozing around and start heading for the locker rooms? He'd just pick of one or two of them, some of the slutty stragglers. He chuckled at his own proto-joke. The crowd died down slowly.

Rookwood High School hung just on the far edge of the Hellmouth, receiving faint aftershocks of its mystic energy only when the full moon rose on the vernal equinox or some other occult portents aligned. On the other hand, the thing it didn't have was a pair of vigilant slayers.

He wished he didn't have to hunt alone, but somehow he couldn't hold onto a companion. It wasn't his fault that his poor little brother or the hottest honey he'd ever banged lacked his instinct for staying un-dead.

Gorch shook his head and rubbed his stomach. Here he was, bawling like a baby instead of a grown vampire. It was the damn hunger and those bright Friday night lights.

Twigs crunched. The giggle of teenage girls whet his appetite. A warm hand fell on his shoulder

"Looking for us?"

For a moment, Lyle didn't see past the long blond hair, slender curves and green eyes. His legs tensed to run, but no, she was shorter and a bit wider in the hips. Her face looked rounder too, with a cute little scar on the bottom of her chin. The last Gorch brother relaxed. Looking for "us"? This could get interesting.

"I am now," he said, making sure his face was smooth and his teeth normal. He tipped his cowboy hat and raised his eyebrows. "Lyle Gorch at your service, and who might you be?'

The pretty thing did a half-curtsy, almost showing a glimpse of pure white panties beneath the indigo skirt of her cheerleading outfit. "Sabina Spade, and yes, that's my real name. I'm really glad to hear that you're at my service, because there's a little favor we need."

Gorch sniffed. She smelled human enough. He didn't want a repeat of that summer in 1967, when he and that British girl stalked each other for months before finding out they were both undead.

"Now, what could a worn-out cowboy like me possibly do for a pretty little thing like you?"

She flipped back her golden locks. "Well, why don't we start off with a kiss."

Gorch licked his lips and started off with a quick peck. He could taste the B-negative thrumming under her lips, just aching for the release of tender teeth. He sniffed and worked along, nibbling her ear, running a tongue down her neck. From behind, he could see the backs of her strong, slender thighs. She'd be a real struggler. He couldn't wait to feel those legs wrapped around him or kicking in the last throes of death.

"Mmm-mm, girl, I could eat you right up," he crooned.

She purred. "Oh, I don't know about that. I think you really want to puncture my carteroid artery with your fangs, then suck all the life fluid from my body and hide the corpse in the nearest dumpster."

Lyle frowned. He might not be the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but this didn't follow the script. "What did you just say?"

"I want you to meet my friends," she said, wrapping her arms around him. "You can start with a little taste if you're starving."

Lyle had wanted to taste her, right up until the moment when she invited him to. "What the Hell Michigan is going on?"

She squeezed tight. He grabbed her sweet little neck and slammed her against the bleachers. "You some kinda vamp tramp? Are you working for a warlock? Did Damien Helkarst the Fourth put you up to this?"

The whore squealed in genuine terror and wriggled in pain. She wasn't staring at him. Her wide eyes looked straight behind him.

Lyle turned around just as the burning started. Smoke filled his nostrils and divine wrath sizzled his skin. Sabina dropped to the ground as he tried to scrabble the hateful metal and wood off his body. He pulled back and tried to dive into the woods. It was another cheerleader, petite blond with a heart-shaped face, chasing after him with a rowan-and-silver crucifix. His eyes snapped away from it.

"Boo!" Another blond cheerlead burst out of the bushes and sprayed a squirt bottle at his face. Acid tore through the ridge of his brow and perforated his nose. Another girl swung down with a tiny cross of solid gold. Sabina came back towards him, raising a can of hairspray and a lighter. Lyle bent down and curled up into a fetal position. His world narrowed to a world of fire and fear.

"Mr. Gorch, just relax. We don't want to hurt you."

"Much," the broad with the squirt-bottle chuckled.

"The lovely lady with the family crucifix is Sandra Hart, the smallest rear base in the history of Rookwood High. The young woman with the spray-bottle of holy water is Cyndi Dyemonde."

"Aw, those big teeth are so cute, like a bunny rabbit! I want to feed him carrots!" the big girl with the cross of gold squealed.

Every other cheerleader sighed. "And that's Sarah Clubbe, I'm afraid."

Sarah frowned. She fiddled with the cross in her hands and Lyle lowered his eyes. She might be a little thick up top, but her legs were all muscle. He couldn't end this way. He didn't survive a few centuries and escape the clutches of six different slayers just to get melted by a bunch of football floozies.

"I said we don't want to hurt you." Sabina put a hand on his shoulder. "Keep the squirt-bottle leveled, but pull back the crosses so he doesn't have to look away."

She kissed the top of his nose, her tongue wiping away the last drop of holy water and probing the pits in his skin. "Don't worry, Mr. Gorch. You're too handsome to slay, and we need you just as much. We have something in us you want, and you have something in us we want."

Lyle dug his fingers into the dewy grass. Part of him wanted to bite her nose off. An older, deeper part of him wanted to run and hide. The fragment of animal cunning and lucky guesses that paced for intelligence overrode both, and told him this could all turn to his favor.

"What's this now?" He decided to play dumb. It wasn't hard.

Sabina ruffled his hair. "Mister, I've read all about you in the Sunnydale library. My friends like to research there whenever we compete with the Razorback's cheerleaders. It's got some interesting stuff, and the historical romance section isn't half-bad either."

Lyle stared at her, waiting for the next thought to arrive.

She sighed. "It's simple, really. You have superhuman reflexes, speed, and strength. You've met somebody we totally want to meet and greet with another proposition. We have lots of hot, salty, blood."

Sabina pulled out a Swiss army knife and flicked it open. Light glinted off the blade, and she rolled it between her fingers. The steel almost brushed a tight patch of blood vessels on her thumb.

Lyle licked his lips and tried to keep up with her. The hunger made it even harder to think than usual. Damn those girls looked good, but he'd settle for a rare steak at this point. He even liked cow blood. It reminded him of the good old rustling days.

"Here's how the deal works. You agree to _turn_ each of us, one at a time. You won't just slurp up the last drop of blood without giving anything back, because you're such a gentleman, and I trust you not to go apeshit on us, like some stupid werewolf." She smiled, bent down to his ear, and let out a slow breath. "It has nothing to do with Sandra being raised catholic, and Cyndi being a minister's daughter, and Sarah earning an A+ in shop class."

Part of his starving brain noted that Sabina hadn't mentioned what she personally brought to this bitch-squad. He found that less than comforting.

"What do you have to lose? I mean, unless your afraid of a few tiny nicks and cuts. I'm sure a big boy like you can handle losing a pint of life fluid, especially when he's getting gallons from gorgeous girls like us."

The four young women struck their most seductive poses. Lyle Gorch shivered. He felt a desperate, pounding, need to use these warm living bodies for something other than food. Come to that, it had been ages since he'd had a good suck-fuck.

"So, if you say yes, you start turning us, and we do a little check-up with the papers to make sure everything shakes out according to plan. I promise, and I give my word as Cheer Captain, that we'll leave you free to go as soon as this is all done. You just submit to a few kinky restraints. We don't stake you or cut your head off. Once the cooperation is done and we all rise as full-fledged vamps, you can do what you like. If you say no, you'll never have to hear from us again."

The girls all stood up and smiled. Sarah hummed a snatch of pop music and stared at the stars. Sandra fussed with her uniform and glanced at Sabina. Cyndi leaned over and raised the squirt bottle to eye level.

"Come on, cowboy. This is way to sweet a deal to pass up, and besides, you gotta purdy mouth." She sneered.

"Cyndi, don't molest the sire," Sabina said in a long-suffering voice. Cyndi leaned over to his ear.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she whispered in a lower voice, "just in case it didn't get through your thick skull, like, the only reason you'll never hear from us again is because I've totally got a bet with Sarah that I can push a cross all the way through your stomach before you go poof from the agony."

Lyle Gorch pulled his best not-terrified grin, struggled to his feet, and bowed with his hat in a hand.

"Ma'am, I'd consider it an honor."


	4. Chapter 4

"Ah! A vampire! No, wait, that's just a beer bottle. Sorry. False alarm. I'm so sorry Buffy. How can you ever forgive me?" Willow squealed in a long breathless blast of words. She jumped onto Buffy and squeezed her tight, sobbing into her hair.

Buffy wriggled out of her grasp. "It's okay, Willow. I totally forgive you." She wiped snot from the back of her shirt and vampire dust from the front.

Buffy managed to get two more steps down the dark alleyway before Willow tackled her with another hug. The normally-shy redhead might have a dainty frame, but a Buffy doubted she could have broken free.

"Thank you Buffy, you're totally my bestest friend ever! I don't d-deserve somebody like you. Wait, no, Xanders my bestest friend. And Oz! And Cordelia, sort of. I love everyone!" Willow ran back. She squeezed a startled Oz and Xander into a clumsy embrace so hard their heads knocked together.

"Mmm, Oz is so pretty. He's the sexiest werewolf I ever knew," Willow said. She paused to chew on his hair. "Werewolf and Witch. Willow Rosenberg Werewolf. Mrs. Oz."

Buffy halted in her tracks. She knew on some level she could do something, but all she could do was watch her, like a car crash. Willow hadn't been [b]this[/b] bad, not even when she had three cups of coffee in one hour. It must be the extra-dark chocolate coating.

"Oz is my bestest boyfriend, and Xander is my big, hunky, totally platonic friend." Willow shrieked and giggled. Buffy didn't notice the robed figures hurrying off down the streets, or the sound of broken glass.

"That's right Willow. Now you can let go of your platonic friend before you crack one of his ribs," Xander wheezed.

"Mmm. I want to have both of you there, for my first time ever. One two three, Peter Paul and Mary..." Willow sniffed Xander's hair. "What do you think, Oz? Can we share him?"

Oz raised one eyebrow, then the other.

Xander looked in the opposite direction. "Now you know [i]_why_[/i] I don't share my chocolate-covered espresso beans with her."

Buffy bit her lip to force the vivid image of three sweat-soaked writhing bodies out of her mind. She also bit back the regret at not buying some chocolate-covered espresso beans at the Bronze. Or even just chocolate, any kind of chocolate. Xander and Oz and Willow. Angel and Gavin Rossdale exchanged bloody kisses in her minds eye. Or baked beans. Baked beans were yummy. Any kind of beans. Angel, who definitely loved her so much, because she loved him, because he loved her, because she loved him, because he loved her. Angel, covered in chocolate-flavored whipped cream, bound and gagged with gummy-rope and garnished with-

Buffy shook her head and wiped away ropes of thick drool. She had to get it together. They were heading for one of the towns many graveyards. What was that squeaky wheel sound? When had they turned down that street? Why did all the graveyards look the same, anyway?

Somebody screamed. The cry ended in a familiar gurgle and a low slurp. Buffy hardened her mind and drew a stake. "You two get Willow out of here. I'll handle this."

"But, no, Buffy, my bestest other platonic friend, I can help! You know, I do the helpy thing, with all my magic. Stoppus badguyus!" Willow waved her hands and crossed her eyes. A bolt of purple lightning shot out of her nose and set a few withered flowers on fire.

Oz and Xander, without speaking, lifted Willow up by the armpits and started to hurry her out of the graveyard. They backed right up into a nobly-faced vampire.

They tried to run, but the three friends tripped over a low memorial stone and landed in a heap.

"I'll levitate pencils at you!" Willow squealed.

"I'm high-carb!" Xander squealed.

"Ow!" the vampire said. It broke into dust and Faith pulled back her stake, black hair streaming in the wind, her pale face bright with life. She shook off the dust and pulled a cheeky grin.

"Hey," Faith said. She glanced down at the struggling pile of scoobies before her. "Well somebody's having fun." She licked her lips and stared at Xander.

The three teenagers sprang to their feet. Xander and Willow tripped over each other, stammering and incoherent.

"Hi Faith," Buffy said. A hunger pang stabbed through her. Faith's bare midriff looked just a bit softer than usual. She couldn't have digested a whole meal that fast. "I hope your post-slayer munchies aren't bothering you." She spoke the words with the same inflection as "please die in a car fire."

The pale brunette patted her stomach. There was definitely just a hint of chub there. "Well, I wouldn't say no to a bite. Thanks for letting me pig out at your place, by the way."

"No problem," Buffy said. Her face tightened with a smile that could crack glass. "I mean, it's not like other people need to eat or anything."

Faith chuckled and shrugged. "Well, you know, slaying. I don't suppose you've got anything left to kill in this graveyard?"

The nearest tomb door swung open. The vampire dropped away a thin blond man. Its wings stretched in the night air. It had carried his entire body one-armed, hairy palm pressed into the back of his bloody neck. As much as the face, obscured by brow ridges and overgrown fangs, showed any expression, it was a twinge of sorrow in the eyes, one milky white, the other obsidian black. The creature dropped the body, turning its head from one slayer to the other. A velvet cloak bound with a sash of silk was the only covering over its pendulous breasts, wide hips, and mass of withered grey flesh. It rose its left arm, as if to shield its face, but the limb ended in a rusty chainsaw, secured to the joint where an elbow should be with surgical screws. Some crude metal spike ending in three wheels sat in lue of a right leg. The remaining leg ended in a hoof.

For a moment, everyone stared. Buffy didn't normally feel intimidated by monsters, but this creature held a unique, baffling terror. She saw her own fear and confusion reflected in those sad, beautiful eyes.

"You will all stop," the creature said. It, she, had a beautiful voice, low and sweet. "Go home, go to sleep, and forget you ever met me hear."

Buffy's eyelids fluttered. She yawned and turned around. She was too tired to slay any cyborg demon or winged uber-vamp tonight. Her empty gut groaned in protest, but she ignored it.

"By the goddess Glorificus, two slayers? Two?" the beast said, with the kind of half-sobs that made you want to wrap your arms around it and say everything would be old. "I haven't seen something like this for millennia!"


	5. Chapter 5

[b]V[/b]

Buffy strode into class just as the bell rang. She took her seat between Xander and Willow and pulled out her textbook. Mr. Handerbilt bent to pick up a piece of chalk. He bent over, and half the class winced as he exposed the class to the upper strata of his hairy, pimpled ass and yellowing Hanes underwear. Searching around the class for anything to bleach the image from her brain, she caught sight of Angel waving to her from the rear of the classroom.

"Angel? What are you doing here?"

Angel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fiddling with his oversized pen. "Is this really the time?" he said.

"Yes. I mean, you shouldn't even be out during the day!"

Angel opened his mouth to reply.

"No talking in class!" Handerbilt bellowed.

Angel mouthed "I'll explain later" and started copying down notes. Buffy turned back to the board and copied down the list of synonyms for the word "radiant." It didn't matter, really. What did she care about another vampire with a soul? So, he had nice abs. Xander was built like a jock, but she didn't go mooning over him all the time.

"Thank you, I think," Xander muttered. "Or, I take offense at that."

Buffy blushed. Did she say that out loud?

"Hey, B, think you can help me with this math problem?" Faith stage-whispered.

Buffy glared at her.

"Willow? Come on, smart girl, it's your moral duty to help out the less fortunate," Faith wheedled. She tugged at a spaghetti strap and pouted. Willow squirmed in her seat.

"I can't help you cheat," Willow mumbled. "I mean, that would be, just, wrong. I can help you study later."

"Bitch," Faith muttered.

"Go sit on a railroad spike, you, you, Jungian shadow of Buffy!" Willow stammered.

Faith rolled her eyes. "Fine then. I'll just copy off the tasty jock who thinks he's a nerd."

Buffy cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. Faith jerked her head at Xander, smacked her lips, and ate a gummy bear while moaning. Xander coughed and tugged at his "Male Sense of Entitlement Incarnate" T-shirt.

Buffy stared at the arcane symbols on the chalkboard. What class was this, anyway?

"Who can tell me why you can't read in dreams?" Handerbilt said, ignoring Harmony's waving hand. "How about you, Angel?"

Angel adjusted his tie, blinked, and sat up straight. "Sir, reading takes place in the left side of the brain. The unconscious state of dreaming happens in the right side, so in dreams, writing appears as gibberish."

"Very good," Handerbilt said.

Faith chucked a pencil at him. Angel squealed and cowered beneath his deck.

"That's bullshit and you know it!" Faith shouted. "Fuck, I can remember tons of dreams with writing. That stuff about dreams being in black and white is a load of shit too."

"Hey, watch the wood projectiles," Angel said. "Vampire, remember?"

"Angel! You'll be sitting in detention if you speak out of turn again," Ms. Calendar snapped. "Harmony, stop French-kissing Oz in the back of the class."

The two broke apart, looking sheepish. Willow glared at them.

"That cheating bitch. I can't believe Harmony would do this to me!"

Buffy frowned. Something wasn't quite right here.

"You're telling me," Pike said. "I haven't passed history class in six years."

Buffy sighed and started copying down "Twelve ways a vampire can commit suicide, and seven reasons to do so before Christmas morning." She ran out of ink. She pulled out a pencil, but the tip broke. She went to sharpen it.

"Time's up, hand in your tests," Ms. Calendar said, archly. "Something wrong, Buffy?"

Buffy turned around. She hadn't even studied! This was just like last time! To make matters worse, the entire class was naked.

"I, I think I left it in my locker!" she squealed.

"Buffy!" Willow called after her. She caught up to her, tugging on her yellow a tie-dye T-shirt and coming her short hair. "You forgot this note from Dr. Sigmund."

Buffy opened up the crumpled paper. It contained a red pen sketch of her dad, surrounded by a heart, with the words "Screw Him!" written beneath it.

Buffy tossed the note into the bonfire. Spike and Angel squared off in the sand, boxing gloves at the ready.

"I hate wearing shirts," Angel snarled.

"I've got a better story than you do," Spike hissed back. "I used to be real sensitive, you know? And oh yeah, I've got more than two different facial expressions."

"Fat lot of good that does you," Angel said as he delivered a round-house kick. Spike flipped him onto the mattress, hard.

Sweat plastered back his platinum-blond hair and streamed across Angel's chiseled abs. In the strange light, it seemed less sexy than usual, almost abstract, like a post-modern carving. The bead of sweat rolled down Spike's nose and landed in Angel's open mouth. His solem face clenched up, and he blinked rapidly.

"What's my line?" he whispered.

"You're the uke, I'm the seme!" Spike hissed.

Angel flipped him over. "Bullshit. That's not what RavenFan77 said in her epic saga."

Spike flipped him back. "I'm badder than you and better than you."

The two bickered and rolled right into the sea, kicking, clawing, and kissing. Drusilla popped up in a snorkel mask holding a waterproof camera, waved to Buffy, gave her a thumbs-up, and then submerged.

Buffy rolled her eyes. It was cute, but it didn't matter. She had to help Faith tidy up after dinner. She cleared away the dishes, while faith tucked Xander's clothing and broken bits of skateboard into a small tupperwear dish. She wrote "Alexander Harris" on the back, wiped her lips, and belched.

"Excuse you," Buffy said, pinching her nose.

Faith chuckled. "There's no excuse for me."

"Damn right," Buffy said.

"Hey, watch it guys. This is sacred ground," Willow chided. "I don't want you to profane it with your mean, bad, not-sacred words."

Cordelia stepped up to the open grave in a designer Mourning Veil. She'd left the six-figure price tag attached. She sniffed. "Xander was a horrible, selfish person, who didn't really think about the needs of others. He was driven by a sense of self-righteous entitlement. He treated any girl hooking up with somebody else as some kind of crime." Tears made her mascara run, and the church tower rang its bell. "I'm going to miss him so much. I never met somebody so like me."

Faith dropped the leftovers into the open grave and thumped her bulging tummy. "He was about a seven."

Willow sniffed. "He was a good friend. I know that, if I ever turned evil and tried to destroyed the world, he'd tell me a story about our childhood and bring me back to the side of righteousness."

Buffy giggled. Willow always had something weird to make her laugh.

Cordelia and Willow each grabbed a shovel and started heaping earth into the grave. Buffy hesitated. "What are you doing?'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "What is your major malfunction? This is the third wave of feminism. Now women dig up the bodies and men have the babies."

Buffy patted down the soil. The robed figure stuck in a little stake with a picture of Xander and the words "Domestic Abuse". Faith stared at the grass stains on her ripped jeans.

"Well, I better head out. This is the real part, and I can't go around distracting you from prophetic insight with my perverse sexual lust." She skipped off and Buffy moved with her trowel to the next crop, "Sugar Snap Peas." The two hooded figures stuck in the seeds, and she just had to smooth down the earth over them. The planted rows of carrots, incest, soybeans, suburban ennui, okra, self-loathing, acorn squash, date-rape, and sunflowers, just for fun.

Buffy stood up and surveyed her handiwork. "I feel like a real farmer of misery now," she said.

The hooded figures nodded. They gave her high-fives. Their skin smelled like pixie sticks. A little girl in front of her touched each of the robed figures, then stood up and stuck her finger in Buffy's mouth. She chewed and swallowed. The girl smiled and skipped away.

"So, do you guys work here often?" Buffy asked, raking the hoe across a row of Random Acts of Cruelty.

The hooded figures shook their heads.

"Who are you, really? None of the mind games or illusions. I mean, fair is fair, I helped grow this stuff." She tipped a Hellmouth brand watering can over the seedlings, making sure they got an equal amount of blood and tears.

The figures shook their heads.

"You mean Xander helped you? And Nathan? And the parents?"

They pointed their crystalline claws. In the distance, she watched the entire town of Sunnydale and a dozen more hooded figures, working side-by-side to bring in the harvest.

"Who are you?" She began to lose her patience. "Show me your faces."

They shook their heads. She pulled off the hoods and tried to scream.

In place of heads, the figures bore hands, slim and girlish, clutched around a perfect, ripe, red apple. She couldn't scream because the apple was too shiny.

Angel burst out of the ground and picked her up with one arm. "Come away, my eternal love." He jumped up and carried her into the trees.

In another tree, the winged vampire with a chainsaw hand worked on a little light logging. "You won't remember me when you wake up, okay? That's the whole point of elder vampire hypnosis."

Buffy scratched her head. She didn't love him. She wasn't even sure she liked him. Sure, he was hot, but what was so dreamy about a brooding lump of suet she couldn't even have sex with? Did the "one moment of happiness" rule apply to things that only pleasured her, like carpet-munching or some clitoris-diddling? If not, then why hadn't he suggested it? I mean, jeez, the least the vapid guy could give her is a handjob.

She smacked against the cold stone of Angel's crypt, but it didn't hurt. The music box played all by itself, made of wood, and bone, and uncut gemstones. Somehow, it produced notes of woodwind as well as the tinkling.

She loved Angel with all her heart and soul. She loved him even more than she'd loved Xander when the spell gone wrong took over all the women in Sunnydale. Her heart beat for him. Her eyes devoured his bare pectorals. She loved Angel because Angel loved her. Angel loved her because she loved Angel.

Buffy grabbed Angel and pulled him onto the cold slab. She buried her fingers in his hair. He moaned and kissed her all over. The hooded figures raked the sand around her into complex patterns. Something with wings watched over them both, its two-foot toothy grin a benevolent smile.

She pressed up against Angel harder. Laughter filled the night. She ran a tongue across his naked, sweat-slick body, and her heart beat faster.

He felt so warm. He smelled so good. He spread her legs apart. She dug sharp nails into his neck, and the sight of blood welling up excited her. She pulled him inside her.

Angel's back arched. He shuddered in the throws of ecstasy, but she wouldn't let him out this fast. They kept thrusting.

It wasn't her heart beating. It was his. She kissed his big, throbbing, neck, and bit in. Angel screamed. She didn't let him go.

The hard muscle and gristle of Angel's neck slid around her fangs. His hips battered against her, like a caged bird panicking. She drank until her tummy drew taught, and the last twitching motion died away.

Buffy rolled off Angel and belched. "Was it good for you?" she whimpered.

Faith nodded approvingly. "Way to go B!"

Buffy jumped off the slab. She stared at Angel's lifeless body. Faith stood in the doorway, stake twirling in her left hand, the other making a thumbs up. She knocked on the side of the tomb, and the music box crawled up the wall to hide in the concavity, beneath the carved word "Imbibo Vita" and above a skull-faced cherub.

"I didn't mean to. I don't understand. I'm not like you!"

Gavin Rossdale ducked his head in through the window. "Hey, Buffy, I've got the lotion ready, and the beach is warm. The old guy brought Wisconsin cheddar!"

"Buffy? What are you doing?" her mom said. "You are in big trouble, little lady."

Buffy opened her eyes.

"You're going to be late for school!"


	6. Chapter 6

"You know, I think this is my favorite class," Xander said. "Lunch, I mean."

The Scoobies regarded this joke, the kind that had been trite in late elementary school, with the glaring silence that it deserved. Xander pulled his shit-eating grin and dug into his fossilized tater tots as if he hadn't just made an idiot of himself, again.

Buffy eyed the tater tots jealously. She thought the grim-faced lunch lady had scooped out the same amount to each of them, but somehow hers had disappeared almost after the first bite. She'd eaten her disquieting blue raspberry applesauce, her grilled-cheese sandwich with plastic-tasting cheese food substitute, and drained the scalding-hot tomato soup with mysterious rice-like lumps in it. Her stomach roared for more.

"Hey, Xander, why haven't you commented on my necklace?" Cordelia said. She gestured at a set of stones too small to be fake, but too big to be missed, placed in a silver chain strung with a variety of clashing religious icons.

"Yeah, that is thoughtless of me," Xander said, with forced sarcasm. "Cordelia, that is a fabulous necklace. And did I mention you have a lovely smile?"

Cordelia grinned her twenty-killowatt smile. "I just borrowed it from Daddy's new secretary. I mean, honestly, she left it lying around on the nightstand, where any servant could swipe it, and after all those specials about maids that steal things from their owners I was like, well, you can't trust _anyone_ these days. Anyway, thanks Xander. You're looking pretty hot today despite lacking any dress sense."

"I haven't noticed!" Willow blurted, flinging her spork into the air and splattering Oz's face with vanilla pudding. "I mean, Xander does have fashion sense. I mean, why are blue things always blue raspberry flavored, instead of something really blue, like blueberry?"

Buffy contemplated the daily sorrow of school "healthy eating." State laws required a nutritionally balanced meal, but the school didn't really have the budget or motivation to provide real food. Today's post-mortem included a "granola bar" with the consistency of particle board, which she found as soon as she bit into it, and the greenest, hardest banana Buffy had ever seen. She finished off the granola anyway, chugged her Orange-Flavored Juice-Like Beverage, and absent-mindedly licked her tray clean.

Oz smiled at Willow, who was determinedly not looking at Xander. She squeaked with alarm.

"I'm sorry! Let me get that," she said, picking up a napkin. Oz raised an eyebrow, then touched a finger to the pudding on his nose. Willow leaned in close, trembling. She licked it off and jerked away as if burned, cheeks blazing pink.

"Thanks," Oz said. He gave her a deep kiss, which made her blush even worse.

Xander stared at Oz while his plastic spork snapped in his hand. Cordelia tapped him on the shoulder and jerked his head to face her.

"Hello? Earth to Xander, my boobs are down here," she snapped. Xander blinked and then ogled her tight white cashmere sweater.

"Sorry. How could I forget the two most important things in the world to me?"

Cordelia sighed with relief. "That's more like it." She picked up a few mouthfuls of salad, emptied a bottle of Fruit 2O, and sighed. "Well, I'm full. See you guys later if there's nowhere else to feel not-isolated by my choice in boyfriend."

She walked away, leave the oozing pink burger, chips, and pink-frosted cookies behind. "You'll clean up my tray for me, right?" she called over her shoulder.

"I live to serve you," Xander hollered. "Bitch." He picked up another tater tot and rolled it between his fingers.

"Is it just me, or does everyone seem meaner today?" Willow said. "I mean, Percy West has been a little jerkish, well, a lot jerkish, but today he slammed the door in my face said I did something horrible to his little brother." Willow rubbed her big, sorrowful eyes and Oz reached over to hug her.

"Devon cut the family cat's tail off, but that was always going to happen." He didn't elaborate further.

"Maybe there's some kind of, I don't know, jerkyness field emanating from the hellmouth," Buffy said. "Or maybe Devon and Percy got bitten by Cordelia during the last full moon. No offense, Oz."

Oz shrugged. "None taken."

Xander opened his milk carton, sipped, and then coughed a mouthful of liquid into the nearest trashcan. Somebody nearby clapped. "Great aim!"

"That is the chewiest milk I've ever tasted" Xander gasped between retches.

Willow and Oz opened their milks, sniffed, and chucked them into the trash can.

Xander shuddered, wiping his mouth. "I don't think I'll ever eat again. This is like the time the janitor showed me his vasectomy scar."

Willow and Oz stared at Xander, raising their eyebrows. Xander looked away. "It's a long story."

Buffy noticed she had already eaten half of Cordelia's abandoned burger. She glanced at Xander. "Does this mean you don't want your tater tots?"

Xander pushed his plate over to her and nodded. Buffy stuck the banana in her pocket. It was sharp and firm enough to work as a stake.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, cowboy," Cyndi said, poking her head through the doorway.

Lyle Gorch rose from the mildewed sofa and peeled back the Veggie Tales sleeping bag. The dank basement was a five-star hotel compared to most places he'd spent his daylight hours.

"City slicker slut," he retorted. Normally he tried to put on more charm, but his neck ached from where his new spawn had sucked back the blood of life. He'd had rattler-bites that stung less, and Mexican hookers that didn't suck as hard. Besides, something about that girl ruffled his feathers.

Anyway, he didn't like to get up this early.

She chuckled and blushed. She'd changed into some modest little grey number that should have downplayed her sensual appearance. It didn't. A little pink headband parted her golden curls, and she'd set a pretty little black lace choker on her smooth tender neck.

"No need to get your dungarees in a bunch. I just thought, well, she took a whole lot out of you. Honestly, she can be such a fatty sometimes. I swear, after you drained her, she chugged all her blood back and then some." Cyndi rolled her big blue eyes. "You know?"

Lyle sniffed. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

She reached over and patted his head. "I'm sure, sweetie. It's just, after such a big loss, I thought you might be hungry." She waggled her eyebrows.

Lyle licked his lips. This could get interesting. "Are you sayin' it's your turn?"

Cyndi forced out a long, high laugh. Lyle didn't like the sound of it. "Of course not. We have to see it works first. Just go one at a time, so you don't get any temptation. It's just, my parents are away at the Living Water spiritual movement, and I told Jimmy,"

She hopped out of the doorway and dragged in a skinny, barely-pubescent boy with a light tan and curly black hair. His eyes where full of terror. Duct tape covered his mouth and bound his arms, one of which had been broken.

Lyle Gorch gulped. He didn't really go for guys. It wasn't a rule, or anything, and when you were really hungry anything would do, but, well, this was weird.

"Go ahead," Cyndi said, grinning. "He's B-negative. I know you like them. I read up on you in the Watcher Chronicles."

"You sure you don't have an annoying little sister or a desperate housewife?" Gorch said hopefully. His stomach growled, betraying him.

Cyndi flipped out a butterfly knife, straddled the young man, and scratched a smiley face on his forehead. The blood gushed like a Texas oil rig. Lyle felt his vamp-face force itself. His tongue lolled. Damn that trollop, he couldn't resist much longer.

"It's okay," Cyndi whispered. "I gave him a little shot of something. He'll barely feel a thing, and nobody else needs to know about this." 

Gorch bit his tongue, then winced. He forgot how much that hurt with fangs. "After all this is done, you young ladies plan to let me go? No calling the slayer or anything?"

"Squad's honor," Cyndi said. "After we're done, we won't do anything to restrain you. We won't stake you, burn you, or decapitate you. Now just enjoy yourself."

Cyndi stood in the shadows, lifting up a video camera with one hand. He didn't quite see where the other hand was headed.


	8. Chapter 8

Faith jerked the stake out just as she felt the heart muscles contract. Dust ate up the heart. Dryness cracked the skin, spreading outward from the center. The vampire's head jerked back, fangs bared in anguish or rage. His eyes collapsed into sockets. His skin flaked away as the tissues underneath dissolved. The bones fell into a heap, cracking and crumbling before the skull hit the ground.

Faith pulled her fingers out of her pants, with difficulty. There might be more skulking around. The leather-clad slayer closed her eyes and breathed the darkness.

She'd smell hidden vamps before she saw them. The reek of blood and the grave-mold carried far, even in the still night air. A faint breeze kicked up. Faith leaned into the wind and let it dry the sweat from her protruding belly and bared cleavage.

Sadly for her, the cool caress of the night wind did nothing for her soaking armpits. Apparently, a deodorant "strong enough for a man, but made for a woman" wasn't quite powerful enough for an active slayer. She tuned in her ears for the snuffling of a vampire's porcine nostrils or the involuntary snarl of a territorial demon.

Instead, she caught the squeak of a wheel. Faith's eyes flashed open for a moment, scanned the surrounded bushes and headstones for movement. She pulled back into low branches of a concealing willow tree and heard her tight pants rip.

She sighed. That sound might carry. She'd definitely been growing, now that Buffy's amazing mom could provide her with regular meals, and she had a place to crash free of rats and water damage. She'd even let some local boys take her out to dinner instead of stripping them straight away in the nearest vamp-free ally. If they wanted to burn a hole in their wallets covering her seventh meat course, it was no concern of hers.

Another wheel squeaked. Faith glared at the shadows, catching the tail-end of movement before it ceased. Why did they have so many ugly-faced gargoyles here, anyway? Weren't graveyards supposed to be sacred ground? What was the use of consecration if it didn't burn the newly risen on their way up?

Faith fingered the smooth rowan shaft of her newest stake. Religion was never practical, anyway. Her stomach snarled, as if she hadn't done enough to give her location away. Something metal thumped against the pavement, and clawed feet dragged through the ground. She couldn't make anything out yet, but as soon as it came near, the threat would lie well within her peripheral vision.

Faith didn't mind packing on the pounds, she reflected. The added weight already helped out in her fights. She knew enough seduction techniques that she could wrap cute boys around her finger even if she had a face like a chaos demon. She could pick up some new clothes at Torrid with a five-finger discount while she distracted the bi-curious desk clerk. Anyway, she kind of liked getting fat. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about these thicker thighs and broader belly excited her. It was almost like the thrill of watching a vampire fall onto her stake.

The crypt door flew open. An undead trucker flailed out. His biceps bulged and caked blood covered his peeled-back lips. He looked terrified before he even noticed her.

Faith curbed the urge to pounce. Running at him would be a waste of effort. A good predator let the prey come to her.

Faith saw the reason why the vampire looked terrified. Something was lifting him up, one-handed. The something, half-concealed by its crumpled bat wing, bumped the tiny wheel of its prosthetic leg against the crypt wall. It was crouched down, crawling on one knee, and its head couldn't clear the roof. It jerked its arm up. The chainsaw was lodged halfway into the trucker vampire's back. One white eye and one black eye gleamed in the darkness. The bat-winged, half-metal thing threw a vampire at Faith.

Faith reacted. The panicked vamp flailed at her, hitting her face so hard that she saw spots and driving a hard kick at her shins. She grabbed its arm, twisted it backward, and began snapping bones. The pain fueled her strength. She let a little blood from her nose drop into its mouth and watched the desperation in those yellow eyes. She raised her stake hand, but dove it into the hip joint instead. Her broken nose straightened itself out. She plunged her hand into the pocket, yanked out the wallet with two fingers, and then hammered the stake in from behind it. The vampire turned to dust.

Shop-lifting too frequently attracted attention, and she couldn't always count on a really stupid pizza boy. However savory Mrs. Summers's cooking might prove, Faith depended on vampire's wallets for a steady source of income. This, however, had no cash, no credit cards, not even a Ledermen Supermarket Club Card. It did have a note, written in blood.

_Dear Slayer,_

_All creatures need. You're hungry for a good meal. I crave an attentive audience. Meet me at La Café De Mort in three hours._

_Sincerely, Thanatora_


	9. Chapter 9

Buffy lay in bed, listening to her stomach growl. The Gerard Butler movie before her utterly failed to take her mind off it. The petite blond lead was dumping her spaghetti on the male lead's face, and all she could feel was sadness at seeing such good food go to waste. Buffy absent-mindedly tried to lick her own elbow and found to her surprise that she could. Maybe this was a new slayer power?

When would mom be back with the groceries? She couldn't remember feeling this hungry. Come to think of it, she couldn't really remember feeling full. Sure, she'd mentioned being full, or claimed to be full, but only to stop her dad from calling her a pig, or to stop from creeping out people.

Buffy heard a tapping on her window and smelled blood. She spun around, grabbed the intruder, and pinned him to the floor.

Angel attempted to grin up on her, although it looked more like he'd swallowed a mouthful of raw garlic. "Is that a banana in your hand or are you just happy to see me?"

Buffy looked down. The school lunch banana was a few inches above Angel's heart. "You really shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

Angel looked away from her. "I'm…sorry. Could you just get off me?"

Buffy leaped away from Angel. Judging by the rise in pressure, she'd been mere seconds away from causing him to evil his tight leather pants.

"How _does_ that keep happening?" Buffy said, after a long awkward silence filled only by the faint tinkling and oboe notes.

"Well, it's not safe for you to get close to me," Angel said with another pained expression.

"No, I mean seriously, how does this keep happening? All these little se—I mean, evil-provoking coincidences."

Angel frowned. He did that a lot. Normally it warmed the cockles of her heart and reminded her of what a tortured soul he was, the centuries-old wounded angel that needed Buffy's healing. The oboe hovered on the edge of hearing, Still, that pouty indigestion-face didn't appeal to her as much as the rest of his body. What was she thinking about again?

"What do you mean?" Angel asked. The tinkling ran down her spine.

"Last week's training session, we just both tripped at the same spot and landed kissing each other. And I know I didn't deliberately do that."  
Angel shrugged. "Clumsyness?"

"Did clumsiness cause your radio to suddenly start picking up phone sex? Or what about when we stepped out of your crypt just as a jello truck crashed into a supply van from Spencer's Gifts?" The music reminded her not to worry about it, not to think about it, because she loved Angel, and forbidden love was the strongest emotion of all.

Really? Do you? Said another voice in Buffy's head. It sounded a bit like Faith. You know you can't get what you want out of pouty-mc-sourpuss over there.

"I was wondering," Buffy said, wiping away some drool from her chin. "That, curse thing. How does it work? I mean, what if you're not the one experiencing the, uh, moment-of-happyness?" She jerked her hand suggestively.

Angel squinted at her. "What do you mean? I'm happy whenever your happy." The oboe wailed plaintively.

Now Buffy frowned. This was a centuries-old vampire who had known countless women, human and undead. Surely he knew that missionary didn't create evil-inducing happiness in most women. He had to know about alternative methods of "breaking the curse," right?

Angel pulled out a brown paper bag that made her forget all about ways of achieving happiness with his chiseled body. Agony lacerated her empty stomach. Angel pulled out the hunk of raw meat and began sucking it.

"May I suck on that hunk of beef when you're done?" Buffy said. She regretted the words as soon as they were out. "I mean, not in a evil-causing, curse-breaking way. Like, I'm hungry because Faith is a mom-charming gluttonous bitch who stole my smoked gouda."

Angel stopped feeding, still vamp-faced, and stared at Buffy. The silence stretched out. This time the oboe didn't have anything to contribute.

Her stomach roared. "I mean, when you're done, I'm, sorta, kinda, just a tiny bit hungry."

Angel forced the brow ridges and pig-like nostrils of his vamp-face into smooth kissable skin. He handed the slab of still-bloody beef to Buffy, pausing to lick his fingers clean. "I think you need this more than me."

Love welled up in her heart. He'd probably bought this just for her.

It's strange, but, well, he was still hunky outside the crypt, yet she didn't feel the same way. The cockles in her heart grew lukewarm. The snarky comments of Faith drowned out the plaintive music. _What does he give you that another man couldn't? What makes this undead statutory rapist so special?_

As she stared into his soulful eyes, she struggled to think of an answer. She'd told him over a year ago that stalking wasn't a turn-on, but her behavior didn't seem to play that out. She tore into the raw flesh like a ravenous flesh-eating thing. The taste of bloody low-grade meat brought her back to the father-daughter Hebrew National hot-dog-eating contests. She'd won every time, and they were a great follow-up to the excitement of ice-skating, but they'd stopped a few years before the divorce. She wondered if the bitterness had been coming to the surface even then.

She noticed that the meat was gone, and she'd bitten one of her fingers hard enough to draw blood. She quickly reached into the nightstand, bandaged it up, and turned around to stare longingly into Angel's soulful, tortured eyes.

Only his eyes weren't soulful or tortured, for once. They were puzzled. He was staring at her as if trying to work out a magic eye puzzle. "Why did I come here?" Angel said.

"Did you have some information to share with me? Something about a new uber vamp, or demons, or Spike's coming out party?" She waved an airy hand.

"No," Angel said, ignoring the joke. "I knew I had a perfectly good reason back in the crypt. I felt that seeing you was the most important thing in my unlife, that I had to be near you. I wanted you even more than the time I watched you from behind the schoolbus when you were fifteen."

"Wait, what?" Buffy said. "You wanna run that by me again, Mr Mary Kay Letourno?" The oboe music faded away. Stalking became a major turn-off again. "I hadn't even met you then."

"Listen, that's not important," Angel said, with such pain and conviction that she almost believed him. "The important thing is that I didn't _forget_ the reason, or change my mind. I suddenly felt my heart would break if I didn't see you, but now that I'm out of the crypt, I don't feel so strongly anymore." He looked down. "No offense. I mean, I still love you, in a distant, safe way."

"Of course," Buffy said. She felt pressure to say "I love you too", but her interal Faith wouldn't allow it.

The phone rang and both of them jumped. Buffy should have ignored it, but she picked it up instead. Why couldn't she get a few moments alone to remember some really important thing?

"Buffy! Are you okay? Did you take care of the big scary ubervamp yet?" Willow shrieked.

"Willow, what ubervamp? Faith's been patrolling and as far as I know she's just dealing with the regular suckers and biters."

"Remember? That big scary monster vampire with eyes that were black and white, and a wing, and a chainsaw for an arm?"

Buffy laughed out loud. "Will, don't be ridiculous. You must have dreamt that."

"No Buffy, I didn't dream! I haven't slept for fourty-eight hours. You were right there with me! It must have used some kind of crazy vampire mojo on you when I scared it with my pencil spell!"

Some memory nudged at her, but the hypnotic power buried it in her subconscious. Buffy rolled her eyes. "Sleep-deprived halluc ination then. Get some rest Will." Buffy hung up.

Another memory surfaced instead of the one she was searching for.

"Hey, Angel, were you outside the bronze last—""

Angel had disappeared, again. Worse, she was still starving.


	10. Chapter 10

Jonathan just sat there and took it. That's what he did. He was small, weak, and worthless, but he had his pride. He could stand the ongoing ridicule, the groin-crushing wedgies, and had learned to hold his breath while somebody rammed his head into the toilet. It bounced off his internal scar tissue.

He drained his black blueberry coffee. Warren wasn't here, and Andrew was off bowling with his older brother. He had no girlfriend to commiserate with, and his magically-inclined cousin had gone off to try summoning something with tentacles. His homework was all done. He'd read all his books and nothing good was on TV.

"Hey, kid, anyone ever tell you you got a head shaped like a dick?" Biff Masterson said, walking up behind him.

Nathan vouchsafed that, no, nobody had ever pointed out his priapus-cephalic qualities. The big lunk glared and frowned, then jerked his hand as if to knock over his coffee. Nathan flinched back and the oaf guffawed. He walked on.

He felt a cool breeze on his back and shifted his backpack. After all, they couldn't do anything to the stuff that mattered to him. He had flights of fancy and adventures of the mind that Biff could never hope to achieve. All Biff cared about was fondling cheerleaders, stealing beer, and his big ugly mutt.

Some redhead smacked Nathan on his rear. He gasped and stammered "h-hi!" She just winked at him and swung her hips onto the dance floor. He cursed himself to a slow painful death for being too cowardly to follow her onto the dance floor.

After a half hour of brooding and feeling low-level animousity towards every loathsome crawling thing that lived and the incautious teenagers who had boinked him into existence, Nathan saw Biff walk up to him again. This time there was no guffaw, no half-witted attempt at humor. He just held up Nathan's "Living Religions" textbook, poured a shot of whisky on it, and then held a lighter to it.

Nathan didn't find anything strange about Biff gripping it tightly as the flames tickled his fingers, or a heavy drinker like Biff Masterson wasting something as precious as hard liquor on the humiliation of a minor nerd. Nathan himself was an agnostic, but in spite of his familial non-theistic outlook, or possibly as a way of balancing it, he found the destruction of any book touching upon religion very offensive. He lunched up ready to smash his mug against Biff's empty skull. Biff effortlessly clutched his arm with cold hard fingers and forced him to the ground. Flakes of soggy burnt paper landed on his face.

When the volume was beyond repair, Biff flung him into the mosh pit and ran off. He was nowhere to be seen when Nathan emerged with murder on his mind.

Nathan could stand assaults against himself, his dignity, and the honor of his mother. He could not tolerate somebody symbolically attacking the foundation of so much that gave misguided people meaning and hope. He wanted to kill Biff Masterson with his fingers and teeth.

No, that wouldn't do. Biff musn't _[i]just[/i]_ die. Biff Masterson, and the whole rotten Masterson family, must suffer. He reached into his pocket, ready to buy one more cup of Joe, and instead found a coupon for antifreeze.


End file.
